Day 2: My first love

My first love was the written word. I had planned to write a post about my first love being music, but as I sat and contemplated, I realized that there was never a time in my life when I did not love books. Reading. Writing (though I think I'm pretty bad at it). I can distinctly remember the beginning of my love affair with music (third grade, after-school piano lessons with the school's music teacher. He encouraged me to audition for a magnet school at the end of the year and ended up changing my life), but reading has never not been a part of me.

I read so many different types of stories. Mainly fiction. Non-fiction as well, as long as the subject is interesting to me and it's well-written. I read Tolstoy when I was 8 (though I admit plainly that I didn't fully comprehend half of it). I read Poe in elementary school, Ayn Rand in middle. I also love historical romances, horror, fantasy, science-fiction, young adult, the occasional murder mystery, almost anything; just so long as they're well-written. I mean, Dean Koontz has some really fascinating ideas, good character development, and interesting twists. But reading his books is like burning my scalp with a curling iron as I style my hair. I'm getting what I want, but it really hurts to get there.

I've tried writing. I'm pretty good at poetry (free form, anyway). I'm quite good at essays and papers. But actual stories? They just seem to get all stuck in my head and never manage to flow down to my fingertips.

I read frequently and voraciously. I usually have more than one book going at a time, unless I've found one that really sucks me in. Then I have a tendency to stay up all night reading because i just always want to know what happens next! My sister is the same way. We used to get grounded as kids because we were reading late at night instead of going to sleep. At least now it's my choice; if I don't mind being a zombie the next day, I never have to stop reading.